a b&b tour of the Berkshires

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white horses and red lions cradling our heads

striped walls

antique-scattered halls

baked french toast and four-poster beds

John and Naji and Sylvia and Steve

teapot shelves

helping ourselves

to hidden matchbooks as we leave

buttered mussels and english muffins

double kale

unsent mail

crispy dolma with thick rice stuffed in

monument mountain surrendering to our feet

poolside tunes

quarter moons

goodbye sweet Berkshires, until again we meet.

-from the fondly reminiscing brain of a wait why am i still awake right now?

boat house love

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blue glass

blue china

blue sky

blue sea

a long weekend for lobster

and a fluffy dublin tea

late night whisky scrabble

leaks into breakfast babble

sticky griddle we will dabble

breakfast for dinner, dialogue for dessert

warm wood surrounds us

empty space confounds us

still this young love abounds us

drowns us, pouring over every day

with

nutella lips

ginger sips

goosey quips

my person sticks

to yours like beans 

bean legs

soda breads

looking out

where the ocean ends

tiny hands

frozen sands

perfectly aimless

weekend plans.

to the moutains

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rising up before the sun
with fuzzy stardust eyes
through sherbet-tinctured pink webs we blink
to wake the sleepy sky

a cozy Coffee Pot sign
says “celebrate everything!”
so strawberry waffle, pockets all full
my REAL maple on the side

out and up the mountains now
towards the clouds we climb
we sneak and peek and dare to swim
in the veil of a marvelous bride

on the road we snack and sing
over lakes we row in time
these hearts a part of the same blue chart
under stars our two combine.

 

 

photos of me by Michael (cutest) Collins.

tracing our tracks

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with the chill of an april night in may,

we march out again to float above the river.

365 days dustier, our train tracks seem only to have magnified in magic…

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so too has my aversion to such height-induced adrenaline,

but now we are we, and together we walk free.

clutching your expert hands I tread since-vanquished coals with care as if they still burned.

I follow your flippers, tracing your tracks and placing each velvet slipper on the rail behind yours.

someone else’s mother’s leather floats across the divide and I trail…

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it seems 12 months time has erased my subtle cool completely, and I freeze.

please.

please wake my feet that they may flee in tidy take off,

incite my knees that they may ensure a steady landing,

and oh please, leave my racing mind at peace that it may not tempt curious eyes to seek the water below.

a shaky leap and at last I meet you for the first and five hundredth time…

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we turn to face           a searing sky.

burning hearts pressed together,

now above the train tracks

over the river

we fly.

 

5.24.16. written on a cool tuesday morning, dreaming of the past weekend…week…year…and all of the painted skies to come.

theatre thoughts

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home is where the house faces

and up on high the white light traces

a hallow box the wing embraces

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home is where the curtain rises

to a careful grid of our varied sizes

we look, line, breathe and hope distance disguises

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home is where the booms stack and glow

creative floods do steady flow

and nurtured artists bloom and grow

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home is where the gold molding frames

setting and seating change their names

but forever our sanctuary the theatre remains.

{sleepy theatre thoughts by me | awesome dress rehearsal photos by Jacob Hoover}

 

up

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This weekend it was 55(!) degrees in Providence.  M and I gave the Oscars a nonchalant cool kid chin tip by seeing The Big Short at The Avon Saturday night and The (far more enjoyable) Theory of Everything on Sunday.  Between showings there were warm beverages and downcity walks and cracks for letting in light.  We admired murals and I thought about art in its many mediums, and I wondered about appreciation and its affect on a piece of work.  I considered the old “if a tree falls in the woods” theory, and wondered if it applies to the creation of art.  If an artist works alone, in the dark, producing a masterpiece, does it still result in significance?  Left wholly unshared, does art still hold weight?

I also thought about the Leonard Cohen lyrics and the cracks in everything that let light in.  As I looked up and studied the negative space between buildings in the Financial District, I realized that it is this space that allows the buildings to shine.  It is the space between two structures through which the light beams.  In this presumed emptiness, all purpose is found, and without it, functionality would cease.  So this space, these cracks, the unpunctuated time that exists in all of us, are a crucial part of the creation process.  They give us room to enter and exit, to see ourselves through windows, from the inside and out, and to exist in those alleys and streets between.  These spaces are where we able to step back, to share, to admire, and to grow.

With these spaces, we build up.

 

photo of me by Michael Collins.

artifacts

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I must sound like a broken record at this point, but I have to admit…the winter blues are hitting me exxxxtra hard these days.  I’m (still) cleaning out and rearranging my apartment, and the lack of serenity at home has been making my brain feel all scrambled up.  Does anyone else relate inner peace to outside surroundings?  I decided to escape the house for some relaxation to start this busy week…FullSizeRender 28

On Monday night, MW and I attended a group meditation at Better Off.  This pretty little space is dedicated to reducing dependence on technology and relocating the lost art of human experience through reflection and the creation of real artifacts.  Cell phones locked away in a special safe for the full “uncoupling” experience (though I’m not sure I’m attached enough to my phone to require such deliberate separation tactics- but that’s a topic for another post), we nestled into a circle of simple chairs and together the small group practiced mindful meditation.  We were guided through a slow scan of the body, lead with gentle cues centered around an awareness of our physical presence in the space.

Paying such close attention to the sensations of my idle body was a completely new experience for me.  Being such an active person, it’s rare that I actually acknowledge the feeling of dormancy.  What a concept.  Cars zipping down Broadway and happy Grange-goers stumbling past, I felt myself detaching from the constant cycle of thoughts bouncing in my mind and instead truly observing the moment.  I am here.  This is now.  My right foot feels achy, my hands feel heavy, my heart feels steady.  Intentional and calm for once, my breath keeps it all churning.  It’s the only thing changing, my body remains still and the air moves in, through, and out as something different, transformed by my “inactive” body’s rather remarkable routine.  The whole experience was completely restorative.  So, in the spirit of the Better Off mission, some creative and tech-free artifacts I’m enjoying this week…

these paintbrushesDSC07538…because MW and I finally get to start our watercoloring class tonight, and also they fit so perfectly in this pouch (a repurposed cheese knife sheath from a special someone).

this coffee table crateIMG_7277…because it’s packed with a constant rotation of candles and books and inspirational goodness.

this stack of doiliesDSC07555…because February crafts. (!)

this tiny pillowDSC07561…because I knew Jacob would appreciate the artsy joke.  Heh heh.

this bedside setupDSC07514…because it feels fresh and February-appropriate (dead flowers and all).

this garlandDSC07529 (1)…because T and I made it 3 years ago at Mudsy’s and it tugs at the heartstrings (please excuse that awful pun).

 

first two photos via Better Off.